


Homeward

by WritingEmi



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Iron Bull Feels, M/M, Pining, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, Post-Trespasser, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-15 14:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13032660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingEmi/pseuds/WritingEmi
Summary: The Iron Bull goes to Tevinter to retrieve Dorian and take him back to Orlais. Along the way, he has to confront the situation Dorian is in, their past relationship, and his own longing.





	Homeward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AuditoryCheesecake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuditoryCheesecake/gifts).



> For AuditoryCheesecake. This was meant to be a short "treat" for the holiday exchange, but it took on a melodramatic life of its own. I hope you enjoy.

**Escape**

Tevinter winters could never truly be considered cold, especially compared to the south, but the night air was sharp and chilled against the Iron Bull’s skin and his breath came out in little white puffs in the moonlight. In southern Tevinter, near the Nevarran border, the cold was little worse than farther north. It was just enough to be bothersome, to leave prickles of goosebumps along limbs, and to leave a man in threat of hypothermia in the middle of the night if not properly prepared.

The Iron Bull tried not to think about that too much.

The tree covered hills sloping down south, as if reaching out towards the Nevarran border, were quiet in the winter hush, filling the void with only the wind rustling the woods and grass, and the very occasional animal scampering by. The leaves had long fallen from the trees allowing the moonlight to easily filter between bare branches, and the tall grass was covered in a thin layer of frost, crunching ever so lightly whenever Bull moved from where he was crouched by a large, old oak. 

He tried to keep his movements to a minimum, but Bull needed to stretch his left leg every once in a while to prevent it from stiffening in the cold. If he needed to move quickly, he couldn’t let old injuries slow him down. 

It wasn’t ideal, the Iron Bull thought as he carefully rotated his ankle, to do an extraction in the middle of the winter even in the milder climates of the north. When northern winter rains softened the ground and left footprints, when the trees provided less cover, when there was less food to scavenge for, and when northerners found the weather conditions harsh and difficult.

But that was the thing about emergency extractions, you rarely got to choose when they would occur.

Leaning his back upon the scratchy bark of the oak tree, the Iron Bull kept his eye on the barely visible trail several yards away from him. No one would notice it unless one was looking for it. The trail was nothing more than lightly trampled grass, careful slice marks on trees meant to look like claw marks, and concealed ribbons tied to shrubbery. And earlier, in one hollowed out log, Bull found a worn note in poorly written Common.

_Cotion! Slavrs 5 miles E of bordr vilage!_

Bull left the note in the log for the next person to find.

A soft crunching sound made Bull freeze and hold his breath. It was a careful noise coming from further up the trail, though slightly uneven, and cautious, pausing every once in a while before starting up again. As the noise got closer, Bull could hear the drag of clothing along the tall grass, a soft wheezing breath, and the gentle tread of winter boots upon the icy ground. Suddenly, it stopped.

Looking out onto the trail, Bull could see no one or anything out of place beyond the newly trampled grass. Then he saw it, an ember making a small arch in the air, just above the grass and coming from behind one of the fallen logs. The spark of light fluttered in the air briefly before vanishing, like a firefly sputtering out in the summer night sky.

A potent combination of hope and apprehension rose in the Iron Bull.

It was always a risk to reveal one self. Any number of people could have found out the prearranged signal and prepared an ambush. Or there could be others hiding in the hills, watching and following, waiting for the best opportunity to strike. But Bull didn’t have the means to produce the return signal, to prove that he was a friend and not a foe. So, damning the risk, the Iron Bull stood up and walked out onto the trail, hoping that the outline of his horns in the moonlight would be enough to identify him. 

Hoping that the person sending the signal was the one he came for. If it wasn’t, then no one was leaving that hill alive.

Silence greeted the Iron Bull as he stood out from his hiding place, allowing himself to be exposed in the open without even a weapon in hand. An archer could easily cut him down, he thought, a rogue could slip a dagger into his back, or a mage could obliterate him. But he stood there, waiting in the eerie quiet of a Tevinter winter night.

The minutes dragged by, long enough that Bull began to question whether or not he actually saw the signal. Wondering if too much time in the cold and the gnawing worry eating away at him made him see things.

But finally, someone stood up from behind the downed log a couple of yards away. A tall person draped in a heavy, dirty cloak and hood with a small bag slung over a rigid shoulder, standing on unsteady legs, and a familiar dragonbone staff infused with lyrium in hand.

“Bull?” The voice, rough and tired, was unmistakable and Bull’s breath got caught in his throat as long fingers grasped the edges of the cloak’s hood and pushed it back.

_Kadan._

“Hey there, big guy,” Bull rumbled in confirmation.

Honestly, Bull didn’t know who moved first, but the distance between them suddenly closed and Bull’s arms were wrapped around Dorian. Relief crashed over the Iron Bull at the feel of Dorian’s trembling body against his, the press of Dorian’s unnaturally warm face buried in his shoulder, and the tickle of hitched breath across his skin.

With great reluctance, Bull pulled away, but he rested his hands on Dorian’s shoulders to not fully break contact and took a brief moment to visually check Dorian over. 

The first thing that struck Bull was that the years were kind to Dorian. His hair, slightly longer than before, was still black and wavy and there was hardly a wrinkle on his handsome face. His body was still fit and his skin was its usual beautiful brown. It was like Dorian stepped out of one of Bull’s memories. But then Bull turned a more critical eye towards the mage. 

Bull’s single eye wandered over an exhausted face that was tangled in both disbelief and relief, fingertip shaped bruises were scattered along Dorian’s jaw, he leaned too much to the left, normally perfect dark hair was matted and filthy, and his mustache laid limply on his upper lip. Silver eyes were brightened with a wet sheen and a feverish glassiness. Far from his normal hygienic standards, Dorian smelled ripe from a lack of bathing and Bull could detect the copper tinge of old blood clinging onto him. The journey on foot from Minrathous obviously had not been smooth.

But Dorian was there, alive and mostly well.

“Maker’s breath, what are you doing here, Bull?” His name cracked painfully in Dorian’s voice.

Bull gave him half a smirk. “To help you, like I promised I would.”

Dorian opened his mouth, but Bull swiftly cut him off.

“I know you have questions, but we need to go now. Some of the boys are down the hill and waiting for us with horses. We’ll talk later.”

There was no demand for information or outrage over being bossed around, there was only a quiet nod of acceptance from Dorian. The silence and ready obedience unnerved Bull almost as much as the bruises on Dorian’s face.

They moved as quietly and swiftly as they could along the trail with Bull taking point, retracing his steps from earlier in the day. Dorian followed close behind of him, his breath coming in shallow puffs on Bull’s bare back and their hands were intertwined as if to make sure that they didn’t lose another in the night, despite the ample light provided by the moon. It reassured Bull that Dorian was there, that it wasn’t too late. For Dorian, Bull could only suppose he received the comfort of seeing a friendly face for the first time in days, maybe even weeks.

Following the trail down the hill it appeared that no one was there, but Bull quickly spotted Skinner sitting at her post in a tree and he gave her the signal for all clear. She relayed the signal and soon Krem and Stitches emerged from the tapering off woods, where they were keeping the horses in the shelter of the trees. As they approached the Chargers waiting for them, Bull felt Dorian tug his hand away and Bull released his grip, his palm and fingers were instantly cold.

Krem stepped towards them, a relieved grin breaking out on his face as he embraced Dorian. “Damn, it’s good to see you, Altus.”

A thin laugh rattled in Dorian’s lungs as he returned the hug. “It’s a surprise to see you, my friend.”

Once Krem and Dorian pulled apart, Stitches grasped Dorian’s shoulder and gave him a once over. “I’m glad to see you, Dorian. Is there anything I need to look at before we head to camp? It’s about an hour’s ride.” Stitches frown as he took a longer look at Dorian. “Is that fever from a cold or an infection?”

“I’m fine, Stitches.”

“Check his right side when we get back to camp,” Bull insisted.

Glassy silver eyes narrowed at Bull in a glare, but Dorian didn’t say anything.

They headed for the horses, with Dorian following Bull closely until he stopped the mage. “You’re riding with Krem.” On the stronger, faster horse, Bull added silently.

Dorian blinked slowly. “Oh.”

“The Chief’s horse can’t handle both his large ass and your skinny one if we need to book it,” Krem elaborated and helped Dorian up onto his large, chestnut Fereldan mare.

Bull rode close to Krem, keeping his eye fixed on the dark horizon in front of him and not on Dorian. He tried not to notice the way Dorian leaned heavily against Krem with his arms wrapped tightly around the warrior’s waist and head resting lazily on Krem’s shoulder. 

“So, was my mercenary company killed or did they just take my money?” Dorian’s weary whisper to Krem reached Bull’s ears.

Krem shifted in his saddle. “Miller’s company is legit and she would’ve come for you, but the Divine’s been keeping eyes and ears on what’s going on in Tevinter. She tipped us off about you, so we bought out the contract.”

Dorian’s response was a simple and pained, “Why?”

A derisive snort escaped from Krem. “Miller’s company is good, but we’re better.”

Dorian let out a soft and fragile laugh as he quietly admitted, “Yeah, you are.”

The chatter ceased until they reached the Chargers’ camp. The glow of the campfires welcomed them and the points of tents promised as good of a night of sleep as one could get out doors. Scouts and lookouts had long announced their arrival and the vibe of the camp was of relief, a far cry from the tension that hovered over the company when Bull and his select group headed out that morning.

All eyes were on them as they dismounted, many members of the Chargers knew Dorian, drank and fought with him, and wanted to greet him. But others had joined on in the last several years as old members retired and longed to meet Dorian. The newbies only knew Dorian by reputation, a companion of the Inquisitor, the good Magister, the Scourge of the Venatori, and the Redeemer of Tevinter. 

Not that the last title meant anything now.

Right away, Stitches ushered Dorian into his tent, pushing him past old friends and eager new faces, and the pair disappeared behind the canvas fabric. Bull stood by his horse and his eye was fixed on Stitches’ tent, rooted in his spot long after Dorian was out of sight.

Krem gently touched his arm. “Grim’s saved some dinner for us.”

A feeling of uselessness fell over the Iron Bull. He wanted to avail himself to Dorian, to do something the ease the whole shitty situation. But until they faced crossing the Tevinter and Nevarra border, there was nothing Bull could do.

Krem’s fingers dug into his skin and in a firmer voice, added, “You should eat something, Chief.”

“Yeah,” Bull nodded, “yeah, ok.”

Krem dragged him to the fire closest to Bull’s tent and seemed determined to ignore the longing looks Bull made at the unoccupied campfire by Stitches’ tent. But Bull silently acknowledged Dorian’s need for privacy while Stitches examined him. 

A bowl of stewed nug meat and rice was shoved into his hands, along with a mug of foamy beer. Bull automatically went through the motions of eating as his stomach suddenly growled and washed down the stew with several gulps of beer. He had waited by that trail all day, consuming little food or drink as he waited for Dorian to arrive and watching out for anyone else who might also be waiting for Dorian.

“So, Dorian,” Krem started after a long stretch of silence.

“He’s alive and we’re going to keep him that way. That’s all that matters,” Bull stated, his head bowed over his steaming bowl of food.

“We’re going to get him out of here, that’s for sure, but what are we going to do with him once we’re down south?” Krem asked, peering over the rim of his own tin travel mug of beer. “Miller said the only instruction she got was to get him to the Orlais border and that was it. She could’ve just left him, but we can’t.”

Bull stirred his dinner around with his spoon, mixing the meat further into the soft white rice. “I’ll make sure he has somewhere to go.”

“Yeah, but where?”

“Wherever he wants to go. The boss and Cullen said I could bring Dorian to their farm in Ferelden or there’s Dagna and Sera in Val Royeaux. Cassandra said he could go up to the Hunterhorn Mountains and work with the Seekers,” Bull shrugged his shoulders, “you know, teaching them not to irrationally hate mages.”

“That last one sounds less than ideal.”

“Or he can come home with me.”

Krem didn’t respond and ducked his head to concentrate on eating his dinner. The fire popped and crackled happily as their conversation died off, until Krem finally whispered, “I can’t believe how bad it’s gotten here. I mean, it was never that great, but the crackdown by the Magisterium …”

Bull could only nod in agreement. Leliana informed Bull about the reports coming in from Dorian and her spies in the Imperium, the rise of radicals and Venatori supporters in the Magisterium, the sudden backlash against reform, members of the Lucerni being arrested, and Dorian being denounced as a maleficar and immediately sentenced to death. She gave Bull information about the mercenary company Dorian contracted to help get him out of Tevinter. And then Leliana informed him that all contact from Dorian ceased and his whereabouts were unknown.

Fear had gripped the Iron Bull’s heart with icy claws as the uncertainty of whether or not Dorian was alive ate away at Bull.

“It’s much worse than you can imagine.”

They both looked up to find Dorian walking up to the campfire and Bull’s heart leapt into his throat. Dorian looked almost normal as he was freshly washed and shaved, his hair and mustache were carefully combed, and he was dressed in Stitches’ spare clothes and wrapped up in one of Dalish’s clean, woolen cloaks. 

Someone handed Dorian a bowl of food and a beer just as he sat down next to Bull. Not close enough for their shoulders or knees to touch, but within easy reach. If Bull just extended his arm out, he could touch Dorian’s face and reassure himself that Dorian was safe and sound at that moment.

Dorian dug into his food, shoveling it eagerly into his mouth without a single word of complaint. No comment on the lack of spice, no sneer over having to eat nug, and no sigh over the sloppy presentation. He just ate like he hadn’t eaten in days.

Bull watched Dorian’s jaw as he chewed his food, watched the fingertip shaped bruises along dark skin that shifted and moved with each bite. They were old, purple blotches along the jawline, vivid against even Dorian’s complexion. Large, thick fingers from someone’s right hand had left them, along with faint, crescent moon shaped scratches from nails that were grown out too long.

_Who did this to you? Why were they trying to pry open your mouth? Did they hurt you? Of course they did, look at those marks. I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them, I’ll kill them, I’ll kill them, I’ll kill—_

“The Templars were trying to pour magebane down my throat when they tried to arrest me.”

Bull’s back straightened. He hadn’t known that he had said anything.

“You were glaring at them,” Dorian motioned to the bruises on his face, “angrily enough that poor Cremisius ran away in fear.”

Looking to where Krem had been sitting, Bull saw that Dorian was right. Krem was gone and now it was just him and Dorian sitting together and sharing a meal for the first time in over three years.

“You can take heart that they did not succeed,” Dorian continued. “Thankfully Tevinter Templars are little more than soldiers in garish armor, otherwise, I’d be …” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought. Swallowing another spoonful of stew, Dorian shifted topics. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to see you and the Chargers, what a comfort it is to be with all of you instead of a company of strangers.”

Dorian cut himself off and his cheeks colored. 

“I’ll pay you back.”

Bull turned his head to stare at Dorian, confused over what he was talking about.

“For the money you paid to on the contract, I’ll pay—”

“No,” Bull replied firmly, “you’re not in our debt. I’m fulfilling my promise to you, because,” _I miss you,_ “we’re friends.”

Dorian put down his bowl in his lap and he slumped against Bull’s side, his head lolling on Bull’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he rasped, “for coming for me.”

The freshness of soap mingled with Dorian’s natural scent filled Bull’s nostrils and his chest tightened.

“Humor me and sleep in my tent tonight,” Bull nearly begged, afraid that he was overstepping an unspoken boundary. “I have a bedroll for you.”

Dorian let out an exhausted chuckle. “I think at this point, I wouldn’t protest if you told me that you had a bedroll for me with the horses.”

That was a good enough answer for Bull. Taking Dorian into his tent, like he did a hundred times before, Bull grabbed his extra bedroll and blankets and laid them out on the ground a few paces away from his own. Dorian was quick to shuck off his boots and lay out his borrowed cloak, and then nearly dived under the covers once Bull was finished arranging the bedding.

The moment Dorian’s head hit the pillow, he was out. After a few minutes, his soft snores filled the tent, just how Bull remembered them from countless nights of sleeping next to Dorian. He wondered if he teased Dorian in the morning, telling him that he snored, if Dorian would still give the same overdramatic and outraged response that no Pavus has ever snored in his or her life.

Probably not, Bull concluded as he laid down in his bedroll.

The exhaustion that Bull carried from the day evaporated in Dorian’s presence and his mind went into hyperactivity. His brain recalled all the information coming out of Tevinter. He replayed approaching the other mercenary company hired to get Dorian across the border to take the job from them, the journey up to Tevinter, along with the tense moments waiting along the old runaway slave trail. The sheer relief of seeing Dorian. 

_He’s here. He’s here, alive, and just close enough to touch. He’s alive._

And inevitably, his mind wandered to the last time he saw Dorian.

_“I’ll never stop fighting for my homeland while I am able to.”_

Those were Dorian’s words the last time they met over three years ago and there really was nothing left for either of them to say. He didn’t begrudge Dorian and his decision, Bull completely understood duty, but fuck if it didn’t hurt.

_“Dorian. I want you to know that there are no hard feelings, we’re still friends. If you ever need an ass kicked, ever need help while you’re up there in Tevinter or anywhere in Thedas, I’ll come for you.”_

He remembered the fragile, incredulous look on Dorian’s face as they sat by the large picture window in the parlor of their now long sold off villa. Bull recalled the shadows that danced across Dorian’s frowning features as the sun was setting, the redness surrounding silver irises, and the slight tremble in Dorian’s fingers interlaced with his own. Taking in every detail he could, Bull committed it all to his keen memory, not knowing when he’d see Dorian again.

_“Bull—”_

_“I’ll come for you. I promise.”_

**Crossing**

The small supply wagon bounced along the uneven runaway slave trail, obnoxiously rattling its contents of camp gear, cookware, and the Iron Bull’s teeth. Sitting with his knees drawn to his chest, Bull rode in the cramped wagon and concealed from sight by a thick canvas cover. His ears rang with the continuous clatter and a hanging pan less than delightfully tapped against one of his horns in the rhythm of the swaying wagon.

As a Qunari in Tevinter, the Iron Bull stuck out and it was best not to attract any unwanted attention as they moved towards the Nevarran border. Especially since many who would be looking for Dorian knew of the old rumor of Magister Pavus and his Qunari lover.

Next to him, Dorian managed to make a small nest with the extra bedding thrown into the wagon, Stitches was conscious to make sure that Dorian had a place to rest, and then shoved Bull into a corner. Bull looked on enviously as Dorian was laid out on his left side, head pillowed under his arm and eyes closed. His snores were drowned out by the noise, but Bull could see the slow, steady way his chest rose and fell, the slight movements behind his closed eyelids, and the small, involuntary twitch of his body. How Dorian, who complained about lumpy pillows and stiff mattresses, could sleep in the wagon was beyond Bull’s comprehension. 

Daring a light touch of Dorian’s forehead, Bull could still feel the feverish warmth that had concerned Stitches before. A pink flush tinted Dorian’s cheeks and a light layer of sweat beaded on his forehead, even as he clutched the blanket draped over him.

Maneuvering in the tight space with some difficulty, Bull took out a greyed linen handkerchief from his pocket and grabbed his waterskin to dampen it. Carefully, he bathed Dorian’s overly heated forehead, remembering faintly the way his tama would do same whenever he was ill as a child. It only took a couple minutes before Dorian’s eyes opened a sliver with silver irises glaring up at Bull.

“Cold,” Dorian mumbled crossly into his blanket.

“Stitches said to try to keep your fever down.”

“I’m fine.” But Dorian snatched the handkerchief from Bull’s hand and dabbed his face with it.

“How’s your side?” Bull asked.

Dorian carefully laid his hand on his right side. “Better, Stitches took a look at it and gave me elfroot potions for it. The wound was actually healing fine, but I wasn’t able to care for it properly on the road. Besides, Claudia never cleaned her staff blade, so of course the wound festered.”

“Claudia?” The name struck a bell for Bull, recalling her as someone Dorian spoke of fondly. “I thought she was a friend.”

“I rather thought so as well, I knew someone within my political party was compromised as my enemies were closing in, but I didn’t expect her to be the one. Either way, now she’s a pile of ash. Claudia denounced me as a maleficar to the Magisterium, better to have someone within my own party make the accusation, makes it so much more dramatic and authentic.”

“She was stupid enough to confront you?”

“I know, right?” Dorian snorted. “Since we were once friends, she wanted me to turn myself in peacefully and when I made it clear I wouldn’t go quietly, she tried to stab me. That’s around the time the Templars stormed the estate. It was all quite messy. Mother will never get the scorch marks out of the tile.”

“And where were your guards in all of this?”

A sardonic half grin formed on Dorian’s chapped lips. “Paid off to take a long walk through the gardens,” he explained with a humorless chuckle. “As you can see, I couldn’t even trust my own guards, who served me for years.”

The strings of an old and tired argument were tugged, but there was nothing to unravel anymore. Still, the stirrings of concern and worn anger rose in the Iron Bull. A rare and petty part of the Iron Bull wanted to boast that he was right all those years ago, that Dorian had needed more reliable security, that he should have let Bull interview his guards, and that he needed to take his safety more seriously. That Dorian needed him.

“I should have listened to you.”

The words were so faint under the jostle of the wagon and its contents, that Bull was unsure if he even heard them. By the time Bull looked over at Dorian, the mage had closed his eyes and his dark eyelashes, resting upon his cheeks, were damp. The pettiness drained out of Bull right away.

“This all happened pretty quickly, didn’t it? How did you have time to hire Miller’s company to get you?” Bull changed the topic.

“Ah, that would be Mother,” Dorian’s voice was filled with an underlying wonder, as if he didn’t believe it himself. “I get both my unmatched beauty and cleverness from her. She was already looking for a mercenary company to get me out of Tevinter before the Templars tried to arrest me and hid me until everything was arranged. As much as we fought, I suppose she didn’t want to see her only child executed or made Tranquil.”

“Ah, so that’s why you didn’t hire us. It was your mother.”

Dorian fell silent and Bull let it slide.

“Did they arrest your entire party?”

Dorian didn’t open his eyes, but he shook his head. “Just the few who were unfortunate enough to be particularly close to me. Most of my friends were imprisoned, but the Magisterium had the Templars sentence Gaius to Tranquility.”

That name instantly clicked in Bull’s brain. Gaius, a tall and rather brawny Magister, with large hands, dark skin, and deep, laughing voice. They met briefly in Val Royeaux, Bull recalled a strong handshake and blinding smile before Bull whisked Dorian away to suite of rooms he rented for Dorian’s short sojourn to the south. Later, Bull relearned the name in Charter’s reports about the situation in Tevinter to Leliana, noting Gaius as Dorian’s occasional lover.

Bull knew that making Gaius Tranquil was just a twist of the dagger already plunged into Dorian’s heart. Silent tears slid down Dorian’s cheeks from his tightly shut eyes and his fingers clutched at Bull’s handkerchief, holding it under his wobbling chin.

Unable to help himself, Bull slid his fingers into Dorian’s hair, stroking it in a gesture of comfort. “I heard Maevaris made it to Kirkwall safely.”

Something between a laugh and a sob bubbled up from Dorian’s throat. “Kirkwall can’t contain her. She’ll continue to be a thorn in the Magisterium’s side from Varric’s house.”

The laugh faded away and Bull continued to stroke Dorian’s hair long after he fell back asleep.

The ride out of Tevinter was tense, but mostly uneventful. Skinner and her throatcutters scouted ahead, quietly killing the increasingly frequent patrols of Tevinter Templars, slavers, and Venatori that might have otherwise caused trouble as they moved south. Bull was glad for the wisdom of Dorian’s mother, who thought to hire a mercenary company to get Dorian out of Tevinter. While a single person might travel undetected, it would have been a perilous trip to make alone. Bull didn’t like to think what it might have been like for Dorian without help.

But overall, the journey was almost too uneventful, Bull thought ruefully, as he would have been happy to sink his battleaxe into someone skull. It was on the third day after they retrieved Dorian, just miles away from the Nevarra border, that Bull received his wish for more excitement.

“At least twenty shems camped on the other side of the hill, vint Templars and one Enchanter,” Skinner reported after she and her throatcutters returned from scouting and signaled for the company to halt.

Krem lifted an eyebrow and frowned. “That’s quite a force to hunt down one mage.”

Hefting his battleaxe to rest on his shoulder, Bull allowed himself a wide grin after spending far too many days cramped up in the wagon. “Then it’s a good thing that we can match those numbers and then some. Krem, get the men ready, we’ll take them by surprise.”

Bull moved towards the supply wagon to update Dorian on the situation, but he caught sight of Dorian rummaging through Dalish’s things with his dragonbone staff at his feet. Dorian held up an extra set of battered battlemage robes, wrinkling his nose at them, but he shrugged off his cloak and started pulling them on.

“What are you doing?”

Bull knew what Dorian was doing, knew that Dorian could handle himself just fine in a fight. But after days of Dorian laying in the wagon, injured and fighting a fever, along with long weeks before that of Bull wondering if he was even still alive, for whatever reason Bull couldn’t bear the thought of Dorian coming with them.

“I know it’s not my usual style, far too much green and brown for my tastes, but it’ll have to do,” Dorian stated as he wrapped the robes around him. “The unfortunate part about spontaneously fleeing for your life is that you don’t get to pack all of your best things.” He rolled his shoulders in Dalish’s robes and winced at the pull of the fabric. “What I wouldn’t give for my Enchanter mail, that white and blue one made of silk and silverite that Lavellan had made for me.”

Thinning his mouth out into a firm line, Bull said, “You’re not coming with us.”

“Of course I am, my wound is considerably better and Stitches even cleared me for battle,” Dorian replied brightly, picking up his staff and slinging it over his back. “Do you think Dalish would be terribly angry if I tore off one of the sleeves of this thing? It is rather snug.” He tugged at the left sleeve with disdain.

“Look, it’s our job to protect you and honestly, we don’t need you on this.”

“Oh for Maker’s sake, I’m just going to tear off the sleeve,” Dorian took a knife from his belt and started cutting off the offending sleeve. “And of course you need me. Twenty Templars and only one Enchanter? Don’t be ridiculous. There’s at least two and Dalish is your only proper mage, that other one you have is a mere apprentice and he’ll be overwhelmed in seconds.”

“Hey, Stumbles is a great mage!”

“You nicknamed him Stumbles,” Dorian countered and completely undeterred.

Krem strode up to the pair before Bull could let out another protest. “Ready, Altus?”

Dorian gave a sweeping bow. “I am yours to command, Lieutenant Aclassi.”

“I want you up the hill with Dalish, Stumbles, and our archers. Take out their archers and mages as soon as you can, and try not to freak out too many of my guys with your creepy necromancer shit.”

“You ask so much of me,” Dorian sighed and shot a sly smile at Bull. “Your lieutenant is both handsome and bossy, a dangerous combination.”

As irrationally unhappy as Bull felt about Dorian being involved in the fight, Dorian’s light hearted banter soothed the wrinkled edges of Bull’s worries. However, Bull still took a moment to glare at Krem as Dorian sauntered away.

“What?” Krem shrugged. “He’s a way better battlemage than Stumbles.”

Bull only frowned at his second.

“Don’t give me that look, Chief!” Krem snapped. “Besides, you’re the asshole who nicknamed him Stumbles.”

The Chargers were able to take the Templars and Enchanters by surprise as they thundered down the hill, but to the vints’ credit, they were able to recover rather quickly. Dorian was ungenerous by calling Tevinter Templars simple soldiers in pretty armor, because they fought with a ferocity that normal foot soldiers often didn’t have. Still, it helped that they weren’t amped up on lyrium.

The heavy copper scent of blood filled the air and fueled the rage burning in Bull as he swung his battleaxe through the throng of Templars. The dawnstone blade sliced through the weak points of the heavy armor, biting through joints and that vulnerable spot between the chestplate and the helmet. Bull’s heart thrummed faster and harder with every kill as his world narrowed to those who were his friends and those he’d kill.

He was so caught up in the rhythm of battle that it was too late to move when Bull finally noticed the ice glyph at his feet, but a loud, refreshing woosh of magic swirled over him and the glyph was instantly dispelled. Then the barrier protecting Bull was renewed and he knew it was Dorian. He knew it in the certain flair to the spell, in the way his skin formed goosebumps and just the sheer strength of the magic washing over him. 

There was also the purple glow that grasped the Templars before they exploded, which was completely Dorian. That always made Bull’s heart flutter in a mixture of fear and excitement.

Bull couldn’t remember why he wanted Dorian to stay back when he so clearly belonged on the battlefield and slinging his magic with ferocity and joy. Just how Bull remembered Dorian.

The din of the fight was dying down, the Tevinter agents were flagging under the relentless and skilled onslaught of the Chargers, and the rage within Bull ebbed like a tide pulling back out to sea. With his head clear, Bull did a visual check of his men, repeating their nicknames as he spotted them.

Krem. Skinner. Freckles. Brick. Grim. Longshot. Stumbles. Dalish. Knives. Sunshine. 

And on and on, until Bull finally found Dorian in the crowd, moved from his safe position up in the hill. Dorian was stalking towards an Enchanter sprawled out on the ground, guts half out from a wound to the belly and clinging to life. A rebuke rose up in Bull’s throat, wanting to snap at Dorian to stay back, but Dorian was upon the Enchanter before Bull could open his mouth, with his boot pressing cruelly into the open gash and his staff blade flush against the Enchanter’s throat.

There was a terrible twist of anguish in Dorian’s features, the same anger and grief Bull remembered seeing upon Sera’s face as she stomped on the face of the nobleman Harmond, after he had her friends killed after the march through Verchiel. Dorian, at least, was less garish than Sera and simply slashed open the Enchanter’s throat as he snarled something in Tevene.

That Enchanter almost certainly had nothing do with Dorian’s enemies trying to arrest him, of rounding up his friends, and making his lover Tranquil. But Bull understood his anger, the rage towards a faceless group of people, an amorphous enemy who attacked, hurt, and killed your friends. It was the same rage that carried Bull through Seheron, until he burned out and was left a hollow shell, wondering what reason there was to waking up in the morning anymore.

But he didn’t chastise Dorian for the display and for breaking formation as the battle wound down, he knew that sometimes a person need an outlet for the hurt and anger.

“We’ve got a few wounded, Chief, and none dead,” Krem reported as the last of the Tevinter Templars were killed.

“Good,” Bull was genuinely relieved, “signal the rear to bring the wagons over the hill, we need to move in case our skirmish attracted attention. Have Stitches tend to our wounded in one of the wagons.”

“Already done.”

Fortunately they did not attract any unwanted attention and the crossing over the border was quiet compared to their morning battle. Dorian didn’t say anything as they sat side by side in the supply wagon, but his head cradled heavily on Bull’s shoulder, sitting with his knees up to his chest and still in his ill fitted battlemage robes.

The risk of running into Tevinter agents did not diminish after they crossed into Nevarra. But it was a relief to be out of Tevinter and the tension that had consumed the company loosened greatly. While many of the Chargers looked longingly at the little village a few miles away from the border, with its warm inn and tavern filled with pretty servers, they didn’t dare enter it. Especially as one of the scouts came back from the village with a sketch of Dorian’s face announcing a hefty reward for his head.

But the camp was filled with heightened spirits both from the fight and their departure from the Imperium.

“We’re just opening a couple of the casks,” Krem said to Bull with a small smile twisting his mouth as Rocky was sinking an axe into one of their casks of good Free Marcher ale.

“The boys deserve it,” Bull admitted, “but don’t let them drink too much. We’re out of vint territory, but that doesn’t mean they’re not going to crawl over the border. We don’t want to be caught with our pants down.”

Krem rolled his eyes. “Yes, we know.”

A retort was on the tip of Bull’s tongue, but it withered away as he caught sight of Dorian standing at the edge of camp, his back to the Iron Bull as he looked northward.

“Go talk to him.” Krem smacked Bull’s shoulder with his open hand and walked away, yelling at the rest of the men to slow down their drinking.

Doing as Krem bid, Bull approached Dorian and stood close, his arm brushing against Dorian’s and the back of their hands briefly grazed each other. Dorian closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath that came out in a white puff from his shapely lips. Then, in a hardly audible whisper, said, “I’ll never be able to go back.”

“I know,” Bull replied. And he meant it.

Dorian looked up at Bull, his eyes overly bright. “I suppose you would.”

Bull knew all too well what it was like to be in exile, to be stranded from both homeland and the people you cared about. For a time, that was Dorian’s life, but there had always been an option to return. Now, labeled as a maleficar, a death sentence hanging over his head, and his allies all scattered to the winds, Dorian could not go back to Tevinter no more than Bull could return to his own homeland.

It was an old pain that Bull was familiar with. It numbed over time, but never truly went away.

“Come on,” Bull gently bumped Dorian’s shoulder with his own, “come have a drink with the boys. You deserve it after making all those Templars explode.”

“Blowing up people is thirsty work,” Dorian managed a weak smirk, “but I’m rather worn out, I believe I’ll retire for tonight. Goodnight, Bull.”

“Night, big guy.”

Bull watched as Dorian crossed the camp, giving the Chargers fleeting smiles and shaking off offers of ale before he disappeared into the tent they were sharing. After having a few drinks with his guys, Bull made his own excuses to turn in for the night, though not without notice from Krem. Bull’s second gave him a long look, but Krem was good enough not to say anything as Bull ducked into the tent.

The rise and fall of quiet snores told him that Dorian was already asleep. Bull laid down on his bedroll and stared up at the canvas of the tent as his mind wandered to the villa he once shared with Dorian. It couldn’t have been that far away from the camp, maybe half a day’s ride east. The villa was an overly large place that Dorian had bought on a whim and Bull could still remember the delicious grin on Dorian’s face as he showed off the enormous Orlesian style bed he purchased, lounging on it in only a thin, silk robe.

_“You’ve got way too much money, kadan.”_

_“Are you complaining, amatus?”_

_“Fuck, no! Now, you’ve got five second to take off that pretty robe before I tear it to shreds.”_

Bull frowned, remembering how the villa soured as the happy memories it contained were tainted by those last days they spent in it together. In hindsight, it was inevitable, they had long been dancing around the same argument for years, but at the time the discussion felt sudden and out of the blue. Back then, the Iron Bull didn’t imagine that those days would be the last he would spend at the villa with Dorian. If he had known, he probably would have spent their time much differently.

_“This is what? The fifth assassination attempt in as many months, right? For fuck’s sake, kadan, at least hire more guards!”_

_“And invite strangers into my home? I trust the ones I have now, which counts for far more than sheer numbers ever could.”_

_“Hey, you know a devoted bodyguard you can trust with your life.”_

_“No, not this again. You’d never be safe up in Tevinter, amatus.”_

_“How long are we going to do this, kadan? How long until you’re done with this?”_

Regret had filled Bull the moment the words fell from his mouth and he knew that he had steered them onto a path they could not turn from. He had essentially asked Dorian to choose and after a long, painful talk that neither of them were prepared for, Dorian gave the Iron Bull his answer.

_“I’ll never stop fighting for my homeland while I am able to.”_

Bull accepted Dorian’s choice and left the villa the following morning.

Sometime later, Bull would return to the villa to pick up the few items he left behind. The villa, quiet and void of Dorian’s presence, stood as a sad tomb of what had been. Large, ghostly dust cloths were draped over the furniture, books and clothes that Dorian kept there were gone, and the gardens were overgrown with weeds as the staff that maintained the property had long been dismissed. Dorian had left him the deed, telling Bull to sell the property and whatever remained. While Bull couldn’t let go of everything, he did sell the villa, leaving it and his life with Dorian behind of him.

Three years later and laying in his bedroll just inches from Dorian, the Iron Bull wondered how he could have ever walked away.

**Southward**

“I feel rather rude, we’ve been spending so much time together in this cheery little wagon and I have yet to ask you how you’ve been.”

Bull was leaning against a crate with his eye closed, but Dorian’s ridiculous statement made him peel open his eyelids. He looked over at Dorian sitting next to him and fiddling with a thread and needle, trying to mend his borrowed shirt, but the jostle of the wagon prevented any real progress. Dorian hissed quietly under his breath as the tip of the needle pierced the tip of his index finger and he was quick to suck on it to soothe the pain. Bull shifted, suddenly feeling slightly warm.

“Considering that you’ve just narrowly escaped execution and fled your homeland, I think I can forgive you for not asking.”

“It’s still quite rude of me.”

“You still haven’t asked, big guy,” Bull teased.

“You’ve got me there,” Dorian snorted. “Well then, the Iron Bull, how have you been these past three years?”

Grinning a little, Bull replied, “I’ve been ok. Still doing the same thing I always do, taking jobs, hitting people, and drinking with the boys. The only thing that’s different is that the Chargers mostly only take jobs around Val Royeaux.”

“Oh?” Dorian lifted an eyebrow, putting his mending down as he finally gave up on it.

“Yeah,” Bull shrugged, “some of my men started families while we were in the Inquisition, you know, since we had a homebase, and they wanted to see them more often. I could’ve just let them go, but …” 

Dorian let out a little snort. “You know that you’re a huge sap. There’s no way you could have just let any of them go.”

“True,” Bull admitted. “Anyway, there’s always plenty of work Val Royeaux and Red always has a job lined up for us, usually on the sly. Every once in a while the boss has something for us, that usually takes us out of the city, and occasionally Sera’s people pool their money together and hire us.”

“I imagine that other than the work you do for Sera, your jobs must be rather dull these days,” Dorian observed, arching his back and tilting his head back in a stretch that showed off the long column of his neck.

Bull licked at his dry lips. “You know that the boss sends us on all the best jobs and the ones Red sends us on are usually pretty good. But you’re right, overall they’re not as exciting as they used to be. Still, they keep my men paid and happy and I like being in Val Royeaux.”

“Ah, well, anything else of note?”

“I bought a cottage outside of Val Royeaux, actually Vivienne helped me buy it, she was way too happy to do it too. It’s a small place, but it’s got some land and even a few apple trees, I’d prefer oranges, but you know, it’s too cold to grow any citrus. I even hired a couple people to help with the upkeep while I’m gone, like I’m fucking nobility or something.” Bull knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop himself. For some reason he wanted Dorian to approve of his home, even though he’d never seen it.

A thin smile spread on Dorian’s lips. “So the Iron Bull has finally been tamed.”

“Not like that,” Bull said a bit too quickly, enough so that Dorian gave him a curious look. “It’s just a place to put all of my jars of horn balm.”

“You do have a ridiculous amount of horn balm,” Dorian commented softly. 

“You should see it some time,” Bull offered, a strange and delicate hope expanding his chest. “I think you’d like it.”

That delicate smile reappeared on Dorian’s face. “I’m sure I would,” he conceded, but made no promises. 

“I love my place, but I do miss my room at Skyhold,” Bull confessed suddenly. “Had some good memories there.”

Dorian looked faintly surprised and an unreadable expression flitted over his face, but then he managed a small chuckle, “I certainly hope you didn’t place a hole in the bedroom of your cottage.”

“Not yet,” Bull teased, “but it's preventing the cottage from being just perfect.”

“Well, don’t expect me to blast a hole in your ceiling.” Dorian pressed his shoulder against Bull’s arm and for some reason Bull felt like that was a win.

There were more than a few scuffles on their way through Nevarra. The northern villages and towns were peppered with the bounty on Dorian’s head and there was increased Venatori activity. Because of the continued risk, Bull and Dorian stayed in the supply wagon, sitting side by side and chatting away. They caught up on the past three years that they were apart, reminisced over their days in the Inquisition, and danced around the druffalo in the room, avoiding too much mention of better times between them and their fallout.

It was the best way to spend the time in the wagon, Bull decided. He always enjoyed talking to Dorian, even before they were together and he continued to enjoy Dorian’s company after they split. Bull was entertained by Dorian’s wicked sense of humor and was as delighted in his irony as always. The pleasure he took in Dorian’s presence poked at something within Bull, stirring something that he had buried over the years.

Bull, never one to shy from his own feelings, could easily acknowledge that not everything was settled within him and soon was forced to recognize the danger he was in. Especially when Dorian leaned against Bull’s side with the heat of his body bleeding through the layers of his clothes and sinking into Bull’s skin.

The Chargers were midway through Nevarra when they made camp one evening, just a couple miles from a larger town. While they didn’t stay in the settlements, they often sent a few people in to freshen up their supplies, so Bull was reviewing their provisions. He was busy scribbling down a list of what the company needed for some of the guys who were heading into town when Krem approached him.

“Chief, a moment?”

“What is it, Krem Puff?” Bull kept his eye on his list, wondering why they were going through so much sugar.

“Dorian just gave Stitches some jewelry to sell in town for him,” Krem answered, catching Bull’s attention. Reaching into his pocket, Krem withdrew a heavy amulet and dropped it into Bull’s hand. “Including this.”

Bull knew what it was the moment the amulet fell into his hand and he knew right away that as some of his men were selling the trinkets and baubles they took off of the Venatori and bandits they killed, Dorian was trying to pawn off some of his items.

“He also gave Stitches his staff.”

Bull’s spine stiffened. “To sell?”

Krem nodded.

“Thanks for letting me know, Krem. I’ll go talk to him.”

“Hey, Chief,” Krem stopped him.

Bull paused, looking at his second as he stood tall and stared Bull in the eye.

“You know he’s going to be ok, right?” Krem started.

“I know—”

“He’s going to be ok,” Krem repeated, “because he has you keeping an eye on his Altus ass.”

Bull didn’t realize how much he needed to hear that until Krem said it. “Thanks, Krem.”

Finding Dorian wasn’t difficult, he was sitting at the campfire close to their tent, warming himself against the chill of the Nevarran winter with a drink in hand. His eyes were tired, but his cheeks were a healthy rosy color, though Bull didn’t know if that was from the campfire or his beverage. Sitting down next to Dorian, Bull caught a hefty whiff of the potent alcoholic beverage Dorian had that left a burning feeling in his nostrils.

“That’s Skinner’s brew,” Bull commented, nodding towards the beaten up tin cup in Dorian’s hand. He suddenly knew where all the missing sugar was going.

“She said it’s an alienage secret and she told me I looked like I could use it.” Dorian took a dainty sip from the cup, as if he was drinking fine brandy instead of Skinner’s deadly homebrewed alcohol. “I don’t know how I feel about Skinner taking pity on me.”

“She gives that to everyone she likes.”

“Or everyone she’s trying to kill.” Dorian wrinkled his nose, but took another sip anyway. “I have a feeling that you came here with a purpose and not to comment on my choice of drink,” Dorian observed warily, his silver eyes sliding towards Bull before sinking down to the item in Bull’s hand.

Getting straight to the point, Bull uncurled his fingers wrapped around the amulet bearing the Pavus family crest. “You were trying to sell this.”

“I know, I know,” Dorian sighed heavily and took a longer drink. “It was stupid, we’re still far too close to Tevinter, but I figured no one would notice if someone so obviously Fereldan as Stitches was selling it. I know I should have waited until we’re in Orlais.”

“You shouldn’t be selling it at all!” Bull snapped. “You were upset enough the first time around, why would you ever think about selling it again?”

Bull clearly remembered Dorian’s agitated state over his remorse from selling the amulet and his determination in getting it back from the merchant he sold it to. When Dorian’s efforts had failed, Bull thankfully had little trouble retrieving it from the merchant’s hands, an angry growl and the man turned positively white. Considering the regrets Dorian held before in selling the item, Bull was flabbergasted that he’d try to do it a second time.

The color in Dorian’s cheeks deepened. “You know I can’t go back,” he hissed, his breath bitter from the alcohol. “Considering that once again I’ve fled my homeland with little more than the clothes on my back, I need the coin more, not trinkets from my former life.”

“What about your staff?” Bull shot back. “The thing the boss made especially for you? The weapon you can hardly stand to have out of reach?”

Dorian blinked back the wetness gathering in his flashing, angry eyes. “Do you think this is easy for me, Bull? To sell these things which mean something to me? I am in exile from my homeland and I need to start over, but I have no money, nothing to start a new life with. I'm not such a young man anymore that I can charm my way out of trouble or be content to scrape by.”

Recognizing the combative tone he took on with Dorian, Bull backtracked. “Hey, I know and I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that. I just don't want you to do something out of desperation that you're going to regret. You don’t need the money right now, so just hold onto your things for now and we’ll hock some of your stuff in Orlais. But keep your staff, Dorian, you know you can’t sell it.”

Bull was also keenly aware that the dragon whose bones were used to make Dorian’s staff was the same one that Bull pried a tooth from. He shouldn't have cared, not about any of it. Dorian was an adult who could make his own decisions. But Bull did care and he didn't want to see Dorian part with the staff that was made of the dragon they both help to slay, or any of his last possessions.

Luckily, Dorian nodded silently in agreement.

“I'm going to hold onto this.” Bull closed his fingers around the amulet and tucked it into his pants pocket.

“That’s mine!” Dorian protested with renewed vigor.

“You're the one who wanted to sell it,” Bull reminded him gently. “I’ll pay you back for it.”

“Maker, I had forgotten how insufferable you are.”

“No, you didn’t,” Bull dared.

“No, I didn’t,” Dorian agreed with an odd little smile.

They didn’t speak about the matter of money for the rest of the journey.

A thin blanket of snow covered the rolling hills of the northern Orlesian countryside, making the country look and feel peaceful in a way that its nobility and politics could never reflect. The mood amongst the Chargers was considerably lightened as they reached Orlais. Back in their home territory, they relaxed as the threat of running into Tevinter agents was reduced considerably and it showed in brightened smiles, open and loud banter from the Chargers.

Bull, for one, was glad to be freed of the small supply wagon and was happy to ride out in the crisp open air. Dorian, who was wrapped in a thick cloak and on a borrowed horse he wasn’t used to, looked less than pleased. The further south they traveled, the gloomier Dorian became, to the point that Bull couldn’t remember the last time he heard Dorian laugh aloud. However, Bull supposed there wasn’t much for Dorian to be happy about at the moment.

Riding close to Dorian, Bull asked, “Where did you want to go?”

Dorian’s head snapped towards Bulls, his silver eyes coming into focus after staring off ahead of him. “Pardon?”

“We’ve made it to Orlais. Red wants you to come to Val Royeaux and tell her what’s going in Tevinter, but after that, where did you want to go?”

A tired smile twisted on Dorian’s lips and he turned his face away. “Ah yes, I should go pay my respects to the Divine.” He sighed and shrugged his shoulders, “As to where I will go, I honestly don’t know. Even when I was in hiding, I mostly focused on securing my passage over the border and through Nevarra.”

“Well, you’ve got time now.”

Dorian shrugged his shoulders indecisively again. “I suppose I could go to Ferelden and try to civilize Lavellan’s brood of little Rutherfords, though I would be living on a farm. In Ferelden. Nix that idea,” Dorian shook his head with a wry grin.

“No farming or Ferelden, got it.”

“Perhaps Dagna needs an assistant, she does make the most delightful things and the risk of being caught in an explosion might even be worth it. Or maybe Vivienne will allow me to join her little mage club and we can sneer at Fiona and the Enchanters College behind feathered fans.”

Bull laughed at the picture. Then, without thinking, Bull said, “You could come home with me.”

Dorian’s head swiveled back towards Bull, his eyes wide and his face frozen in disbelief. Then he finally moved as his jaw alternately hung open and clicking shut, but no sound came forth.

“You could stay,” the words tumbled automatically from Bull’s mouth as he heart thundered in his chest, “for as long as you like.”

“I, uh, I just,” Dorian stuttered in a rare moment of speechlessness. “You’re very kind, Bull—”

“Come home with me.”

The statement hung in the air between them with a heaviness that stood in stark contrast to the laughter and joking coming from the Chargers. Bull met Dorian’s silver eyes and was surprised that he couldn’t read him, couldn’t figure out what was running through Dorian’s mind at that moment. A flush crept up Dorian’s face and he ducked his head, breaking eye contact, but after a couple of seconds, he finally nodded.

“Ok,” Dorian whispered, his response nearly lost in Dalish’s loud and outraged squawk and a burst of giggles coming from somewhere to the right of them.

“Ok,” Bull repeated, a weight suddenly was lifted from his chest. “Ok, good.”

_“I’ll come for you. I promise.”_

Bull left once, but he could never fully abandon Dorian.

**Home**

Beyond a few packs of wolves and couple run-ins with bandits, the journey through Orlais was peaceful and they made good time coming into Val Royeaux. Upon entering the city though, there was a flurry of activity. The men were eager to be back in civilization, Krem escorted Dorian to a Chantry building where he was to discreetly meet Charter to make a report for Leliana, and Bull was stuck doling out pay to his men from his own pocket.

While several of the old timers in the company, who knew and liked Dorian, refused to take any money for the job, there were still dozens more who could not afford to take a job for free. His men were willing to follow him into Tevinter territory and fought hard and well, and Bull wasn’t about to see them go uncompensated. But as Bull grabbed his coin purse from a locked box in the supply wagon, he noticed that it was considerably heavier.

Opening up the bag, Bull saw gold coins minted in Tevinter and a long sigh pushed from his lips. Even before he finished counting out the coins, he knew it would the same amount as the other half of Dorian’s contract with Miller’s company, to be collected once the job was done. He wanted to put the coins aside and give them back to Dorian, but Bull knew Dorian’s pride and his distaste of being in anyone’s debt. He gave out the Tevinter coins to his men and immediately afterwards, Bull headed out to the stores in the Summer Bazaar.

Despite its name, the Bazaar was under blanket of snow, but it was still filled with shoppers bustling about and merchants trying to draw customers in. Trampled ice crunched under Bull’s boots and he tracked in the slush as he entered a store, but the merchant did not take offense. Distinguishable by his horns and height, most of the residents of Val Royeaux remembered the Inquisitor’s Qunari bodyguard and treated him with due respect.

Wandering through shelves with clothing and accessories much too small for Bull to ever use, he remembered what sizes Dorian wore, the fabric and colors he liked, and the kinds of shoes he usually sported. At another store, Bull thought about the pretty cosmetics Dorian put on his face, the sweet floral and sharp citrus scents he dabbed on his skin, and the product he used in his hair. His purchases didn’t amount to the same as the Tevinter coins he gave to his men, but Bull figured he would have time later on.

After he wrapped up his short shopping excursion, Bull was able to line up another job before Krem returned with Dorian to the agreed upon meeting spot at a tavern much beloved by Bull and his men. For his part, Dorian looked drained, his skin appeared pale and dark circles sat under his eyes, he didn’t even make a comment about the packages Bull had or the shabby condition of the tavern. Bull decided to take Dorian back to his cottage immediately instead of lingering around the city, Krem seemed to silently agree.

“How did it go?” Bull asked as they rode out of the city, leaving Val Royeaux.

“I told Charter everything,” was Dorian’s exhausted reply.

After that, they rode in silence until they approached Bull’s property.

“So, here it is,” Bull announced, feeling a swell of pride at the sight of his grey stone cottage, sitting happily in a little grove of trees and with a brand new horse stable nearby.

Since coming south, Bull had long indulged in its offerings. Eager and willing bed partners, delicious food and drink, and the ability to purchase any weapon and armor that caught his fancy, but owning a house and some land seemed like the most decadent of it all. And unlike the villa Bull once shared with Dorian, it was something he chose and purchased on his own.

Dorian smiled, it was a real smile that was soft and gentle. “It’s a lovely home.”

The grey cobblestone house wasn’t grand at all by Orlesian standards, but with two stories, a full basement, an attic, and an attached bathhouse, it was more than enough room for the Iron Bull. On the first floor had a spacious kitchen, a large pantry, a small dining room, access to a bathhouse, and a respectable parlor with a view of the garden. On the second floor were three bedrooms of fairly good size. Bull was absurdly proud of it all.

“I see Vivienne has helped you decorate,” Dorian observed they stepped into the foyer, his eyes darting to the Orlesian wallpaper and an elegant blue and silver crystal vase, sitting on an intricately carved side table, empty and waiting to be filled.

“She likes to help.”

“You mean she likes to be bossy.” But he took in a long, silent breath as they entered the parlor. It was a sweet room with tasteful wallpaper, elegant furniture large enough for a Qunari, a grand fireplace, and lined with solid wood bookshelves laden with books and trinkets. “At least she has served you well,” Dorian allowed.

“She did really well with the whole place. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable,” Bull urged, “I’ll light a fire and make some cocoa.”

“Don’t put half as much sugar in mine as you put in yours,” Dorian reminded him as he snatched a soft cashmere blanket off of a chair, wrapping it around his shoulders and started to examine the leather bound book on the shelves.

“I remember how you take your cocoa.”

“I suppose you would,” Dorian murmured.

Bull placed his packages down on the little table in the room and busied himself with the fireplace and then ducked into the kitchen as Dorian wandered around the room. His fingertips dragging across the books lined up on the shelves, snorting softly at the artwork Vivienne selected for the room, and pausing at the large picture window with the fine prospect of the snow covered garden. 

Returning with the promised cocoa, Bull found Dorian lingering next to a bookshelf filled with trinkets that Bull collected. In his hands, Dorian was fiddling with a small, dawnstone dragon statuette. It was a gift that Dorian had given to Bull once for his birthday, it once held a prominent place on the mantle of the fireplace in the villa and Bull could not be parted with it when he sold the villa. There was a fleeting bloom of guilt that consumed Dorian’s face when he caught sight of Bull and he quickly put the statuette back in its place.

Bull held out a mug to Dorian. “Cocoa’s ready.”

Their fingers brushed just the slightest bit as Dorian took the offered mug and he stood close to Bull, the softness of the blanket Dorian stole rubbing against Bull’s arm as they sipped their drinks, looking out the large picture window. The villa had better gardens, Bull mused, but he thought his looked better in the winter, hushed in a blanket of undisturbed white snow.

This was new, Bull observed. Drinking warm beverages together, cozy indoors, and watching as the sun began to sink in the horizon, leaving streaks of gold and pink that reflected off of the icy sheen of the snow. Their Nevarran villa was too far north to experience a real winter to set the mood and in Skyhold, they never took a moment to themselves like that. They spent plenty of time together, drinking, playing cards, fucking, and just holding each other in bed, but not like this, Bull decided. 

“I, uh, I picked up a few things for you,” Bull muttered into his mug, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the brown paper packages sitting on the table. “I figured you didn’t want to be wearing Stitches and Krem’s hand me downs forever. I’ve also got a few things that you left behind at the villa, you know, robes, some underthings, and stuff. They looked fancy, so I didn’t want to throw them out and I always meant to send them back to you or give them to the boss for when she’d go up to see you. It’s all in the attic, but I can bring it down for you later.”

“I certainly don’t remember you rambling so much,” Dorian said lightly, his eyes avoiding Bull and fixed on the window.

“Dorian—”

“You held onto a lot more than I would have ever imagined,” Dorian continued, his tone filled with a forced casualness.

“I couldn’t throw it away,” Bull answered honestly.

He watched as Dorian obscured his face with his mug, taking a deep drink of his virtually unsweetened cocoa. “Why are you always so unbearably nice?” he whispered.

“Why not? You’re my,” _kadan,_ “friend and I care about you. Besides, you never found my niceness unbearable before.”

A small smirk curled under Dorian’s mustache. “You had other qualities to recommend you.” The smirk then slid away. “I don’t know when I can repay you.”

“Maybe you’ll come on a job with us,” Bull suggested, knowing better than to try insisting that everything was a gift. He knew Dorian’s stubbornness, his pride, his need to be useful. “Could always use another good mage.”

“Even with my debt, you couldn’t afford me.” But he didn’t outright object to the idea.

They stood there together chatting, even after the sun disappeared and their cocoa ran out. It was only the rumbling of stomachs that pulled them away and Bull managed to scrounge together a quick evening meal of crackers, cheese, cured meat, and dried fruit. He even found a half full bottle of Antivan wine that hadn’t turned to vinegar, bringing it out to the parlor to eat on the little sofa in front of the fire.

Dinner was nearly romantic. Dorian appeared to be in better spirits with a ghost of a smile on his lips as they ate and the wit in his responses strengthened with a few sips of wine. In the glow of the fire and tips of Dorian’s stocking covered toes grazing Bull’s leg as he curled up on the couch, Bull could feel a deep and unsatisfied want expanding in his chest.

Not just lust, but something more. The desire to return to the intimacy they once had, the hints and old echoes of it teased Bull to distraction, enough so that he briefly questioned the wisdom of bringing Dorian back to his home. However, he felt no regrets over it. If Dorian had been elsewhere around the city, but not with Bull, it would have driven Bull mad.

“I hope you don’t mind if I deprive you of my company and retire early,” Dorian said apologetically, smiling slightly over his glass of wine. “It’s been a long … well, a long few months.”

“Oh! Right, you must be exhausted,” Bull replied hastily, embarrassed that he was too caught up in his own musings to notice Dorian’s yawns and drooping eyelids. “I’ll show you up to the guestroom.”

He led Dorian upstairs, carrying the packages of items he purchased for Dorian and the small pack that Dorian brought with him from Tevinter. It was much lighter than before, missing a considerable amount of coins, Bull figured with guilt.

“I think you should have enough clothes here,” Bull patted the packages and placed them on top of the dresser. “Tomorrow I can pull the trunk with your old things from the attic or I can do it now if you want. There’s a wash basin and soap over there, I can get you some water or I guess you can make your own. There are extra blankets in the closet if you want them, which of course you will, I’ll get them. Let me change the sheets, Krem only slept on them once before we left for Tevinter, but you’ll want fresh ones.”

Dorian’s hands closing over his wrists made Bull stop. “You’ve done more than enough, Bull,” Dorian said, his tone light with exasperated amusement. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. I’m right across the hall if you need anything.”

Then Dorian stretched up on his toes, keeping his grip on Bull’s wrists as he brushed his lips softly upon Bull’s rough stubble.

“Good night, Bull.” His hands slid away, fingers dragging over the vulnerable skin of Bull’s wrists before withdrawing altogether.

Warm and flustered, Bull managed, “Night, Dorian.”

Retreating to his own bedroom just across the hall, Bull shucked off his pants and smalls, leaving them on the floor as he threw himself onto his large bed. Even though he was just steps away from Dorian, he felt unsettled not having him close by like he did while they were traveling from Tevinter. Unable to see Dorian, he concentrated on his hearing, listening to Dorian shuffle around for long minutes until the movement stopped and Bull was finally able to rest his eyes.

The creak of the door opening woke Bull from his light slumber, but he knew the careful steps across the floor and the quiet rasp of breath. Sitting up in bed only confirmed Bull’s assumption as he caught sight of Dorian, wrapped in a thin, white cotton robe, approaching the bed. Bull drew in a sharp breath, despite the lateness of the hour, it was obvious that Dorian hadn’t just woken up.

With his hair perfectly styled, mustache curled, and a thin line of kohl outlining his silver eyes, Dorian’s appearance spoke more of seduction than a midnight chat. As he came closer and stopped at the bed, Bull caught the scent of Dorian’s freshly washed skin, perfumed with vanilla soap. His first thought was to tear off that robe, followed by the immediate acknowledgment that he should tell Dorian to put on some clothes and meet him downstairs to talk.

But in a slow shrug, the white cotton robe slid off of Dorian’s body, revealing bronze skin that Bull was so intimately familiar with. Without a second thought, Bull’s large grey hands enclosed over Dorian’s hips as he crawled onto the bed and leaned forward to capture Bull’s lips. The softness of Dorian’s lips, the slide of his tongue, and the taste of his mouth was exactly how Bull remembered.

“Do you really want this?”

Where Bull might have received sarcasm or just the roll of silver eyes, Dorian whispered readily, “Maker, yes.”

It was all Bull needed and he quickly gathered Dorian into his arms, pulling the mage onto his lap. The fine edge of desperation sliced straight through Bull and the only thing that seemed to keep him sane was the feel of Dorian, warm and beautiful under his hands. From the ferocity that Dorian kissed back and the dig of his fingernails into Bull’s shoulders, Dorian was just as desperate as Bull.

Bull felt like he was on edge since Tevinter. In the past three years, he had yet to stop loving Dorian, and being around him again ignited that feeling. Until he caressed Dorian’s naked skin, Bull hadn’t fully realized the torture he had been in and he was filled with an indescribable satisfaction at every touch and every noise from Dorian.

In the back of Bull’s mind, he thought that he should make it special, that he should take the time to worship Dorian and take him apart. But he was frustratingly hard in too short of time and Dorian, grinding his hips into Bull’s from his perch on Bull’s lap, seemed just as impatient as Bull felt.

“Kadan,” Bull murmured into the fragile shell of Dorian’s ear, “kadan.”

“Amatus,” Dorian replied breathlessly.

Hearing that endearment again shook Bull to his core, a rumbling pleasure that vibrated out to every bit of his being. Unable to wait any longer, Bull grasped both of their erections in his large hand, smearing their precum for lubrication and started stroking.

Dorian leaned forward, pressing his face into Bull’s neck and his breath was hot upon Bull’s skin. Their bodies were pressed to tightly together that Bull barely had space to continue touching both their cocks, but he couldn’t bear to move away and with Dorian’s arms locked around his neck, he had little choice.

It had been so long since Bull had someone like this. He was by no means celibate, but his encounters were nothing beyond pleasure and brief companionship. But Bull loved Dorian, loved him just a fiercely as he did when they were together, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to let go of Dorian at the end of it.

“Bull, amatus,” Dorian’s voice filled the room in low whispers, hips rolling and his breath coming in quick and ragged rasps. Dorian’s breaths came out fast puffs until finally he shuddered in Bull’s lap, spilling over Bull’s fingers and a quiet gasp and half sob was the only acknowledgement of his orgasm. Bull was quick to follow after that, unable to keep himself together as Dorian murmured his name against his lips and slumped upon Bull in gratified fatigue.

Reaching over to the nightstand, Bull snatched a handkerchief and dunked it into a glass of water sitting nearby, and wiped away the seed beginning to stick to their skin. Once they were sufficiently cleaned, Bull maneuvered himself so he was stretched out with Dorian resting on top of him. It was a familiar position, the way that they had often laid together after sex, tangled in an embrace as their bodies cooled and calmed in the aftermath of their coupling.

But instead of relaxing, Dorian’s body laid taunt and concern immediately filled Bull.

“Hey,” Bull’s fingers gently brushed the hair from Dorian’s face, “are you ok?”

“I lost everything,” Dorian started immediately, a dam breaking as he spoke, his voice thick and trembling. “My friends, my political faction, my homeland. All the progress we made is gone and it was all for naught. I only brought ruin to those I care about.”

Bull’s heart ached. “Hey, that wasn’t you, Dorian, not in the slightest bit.”

Dorian shook his head against Bull’s chest, his eyes blinking rapidly. “They believed in me. I stood with Lavellan, so they thought I was strong. My friends and party followed me because they thought I could bring about change in Tevinter and I was arrogant enough to believe that I could. I helped seal the breach in the sky with the Inquisitor, how hard could it be to bring reform to our homeland?”

Tears began to slide down his cheeks.

“The arrogance I displayed in believing that I could undo centuries of ingrained corruption and yet here I am in Orlais while my friends pay the price. Imprisoned or worse,” Dorian’s voice shook even more. “Oh, Gaius, you fool …”

“None of this was your fault.”

“They were my people, my responsibility.”

“Hey, they knew the risk just like you did and they still wanted to help.” Bull wiped at the wetness on Dorian’s face. “The fact that it all went to shit, that those other Magisters worked so hard to bring you down, it meant that you were making them scared. And if you’d let them arrest you, you’d be dead or Tranquil, and what fucking good would that do? Your friends still would’ve ended up where they are now without anyone on the outside to help them. You’re here and you’ve got access to resources, so let’s fuck with them from a distance, like Maevaris. I’m tight with Charter and she’s got ways to do all sorts of shifty shit and you know the Divine, who was the best spy and assassin I’ve ever met.”

Dorian propped himself up to stare down at Bull properly, his eyes wide and dubious in the darkness of the room. “You should be gloating that you were right, not comforting me and finding ways to help.” 

Taking in a deep breath, Bull closed his eye, remembering bitter arguments and frustrations. All Bull had wanted was to keep Dorian safe, but instead he let Dorian go, put him in greater danger, and left both of them in a position neither wanted to be in.

_“How long until you’re done with this?”_

“I knew how strongly you felt about your work, your country and I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I shouldn’t have left you.”

“You had every right after what I said, what I did. I chose my homeland over you.”

“It didn’t need to be an either or situation. All I wanted was for you to be safer, to be with you, but I fucked it up by pushing it too much.”

“You couldn’t ignore your feelings,” Dorian shook his head. “I was flippant and careless, you were right to leave when you did.”

“Well, I’m here now, kadan,” Bull pulled Dorian back down on top of him and held him tightly, “and I’m not walking away again. If you want to mope and cry over everything, I’ve got a big shoulder you can cry all day on. If you want to make your enemies rue your name from afar, I’ll support you. If you want to march on Tevinter and raze it to the ground, the Iron Bull is at your side.”

“Amatus …”

“I’m not leaving you again, kadan. Get used to it.”

Dorian let out a quiet, wobbly laugh. “Maker, I love you.”

A knot in Bull’s chest loosened instantly at Dorian’s words. “I left, but I’ve never stopped loving you, kadan, not for a single second.”

Things wouldn’t be easy, Bull could acknowledge that as they talked through the night. Dorian healing after being chased from Tevinter would take time. Figuring out how to free his friends and former lover would be tricky. Making sure Dorian wasn’t consumed with depression or revenge would be a delicate process. Reconciling old hurts between them would be difficult and painful. But Bull, never shy of hard work, was ready for all of it.

At least loving each other would be the easy part.

**Together**

The next morning, Dorian disappeared into the guestroom he briefly occupied and came back out with the dragon tooth necklace Bull made for him years ago.

Bull, in turn, fetched its twin wrapped in soft cotton and stored in a lacquer box in his bedroom.

They sat together on the couch in the little parlor, wearing their necklaces again, fingers intertwined and ready to face the future. Together.


End file.
